A New Day
by mckiddbabe
Summary: Cristina and Owen in the after
1. Chapter 1

A New Day

_Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation._

_- Kahlil Gibran_

There weren't many days that Cristina could recall when she didn't feel like coming in to work. Not even after Burke left and she had to endure the whispers. The stares. The pitying looks.

But this – this is unbearable.

For weeks, she had avoided Owen – a feat not easily accomplished given that he seemed to be everywhere. Especially where she had allowed him to find a home – in her heart.

When circumstances forced them to be in the same room, she avoided meeting his eyes. She knew that if she permitted herself to look into those azure pools, she would feel that dull ache in her chest, only for that to be followed by a wave of yearning to touch his face and wrap her arms around him again. She could not erase her mind's photographs of his face and the way it hovered over hers as they made love over and over.

Even now, her body is set ablaze at the memory of his touch, his skin, and how beautiful it made her feel when he looked at her reverently and kissed her hungrily. She closes her eyes as she remembers how she had surrendered herself completely to him and allowed herself to be flooded with a mix of joy, sadness, relief, elation, fear and contentment.

And now, this – this moment of abject misery.

Thank God for Callie, who mostly seems to know when to ask and when to say nothing. Count on Callie to coax a decent cup of java from that tricked-out new Nespresso machine in the kitchen to get Cristina out of bed and somewhat ready to face the day.

But this morning, the moment Cristina opens her bedroom door and takes one whiff of the coffee, she feels the bile rising from nowhere, and stifles it. She makes a beeline for a glass, presses it to the water dispenser on the refrigerator, and sips the water slowly.

"Hey, you," Callie says.

"Did you buy a new brand of coffee?"

"Um, no, it's the same one we've been drinking for months. Why?"

"Hmm. Nothing. Just smells different."

Callie raises her eyebrows but doesn't say anything and sits quietly, looking at Cristina.

"What?" Cristina looks back at Callie.

"You know, I've been wanting to tell you this. Owen's been at Dr. Wyatt's more than twice a week since you two…" She stops. "I know I said some things to him that I shouldn't have that night."

Cristina doesn't say anything, keeping her eyes fixed on the table as she leans against the counter.

"Anyone who faces his demons head on, especially a man in the military - that has to mean something. That's not the easiest thing to do. And…" Callie stops again, unsure of whether she should proceed.

In spite of herself, Cristina says, "And what?"

"And something…or someone – wanting to be with that someone – is giving him the strength to do what he's doing.

"Look, I'm not saying you should take him back. I just thought you should know that he's not running away from what he did to you."

Cristina sets down the glass in the sink, reaches for her purse and turns toward the door.

"Mind if I pick up a new bag of coffee?"


	2. Chapter 2

A New Day

Chapter 2

The walk from her apartment to the hospital is a short one, and it does little to prepare Cristina for what has become a familiar, confusing jumble of feelings. There's a swell of anticipation and excitement at the idea of seeing Owen. And despair at not being able to talk and covertly flirt with him.

It's not as if Owen had not tried. She remembers feeling the heat of his eyes on her when he was about to say something to her almost every time that they've had a little privacy, only for him to close his mouth and for her to walk away. Whenever he was near, she could feel his sadness playing a silent duet with hers.

Cristina bypasses the coffee cart, changes into her scrubs and heads for the cafeteria. For some reason, green tea just feels right this morning. She doesn't know why, but it just does. She pays for her tea, takes a long sip, feeling the heat of the cup in her hands, and the liquid down her throat.

It's funny how something like this can thaw the chill of a cold spring morning.

Thaw. Icicle. Owen. It's funny how all things lead back to Owen. No one has melted her heart like he has.

As she heads for the door, Owen walks in. He looks at her with a pained expression, and it is all she can do to run into his arms and embrace him tightly.

Instead, she walks toward him and stops, mere inches dividing them. He looks at her, searching her face for clues.

"Don't say anything yet," she murmurs. "Not here. Follow me."

Without a word, Cristina leads him out of the cafeteria and up the stairwell to a balcony in one of the more quiet wings of the hospital.

"You're not the only one with secret places, you know," she says. Side by side, both of them look out to the Seattle vista as she continues, "There was a place I went to after my father died where I felt I could feel safe. It was a library.

"I read. A lot. Surrounded by all those books, I was in another world. Maybe I thought I could find the answer to my grief in all those books.

"I don't have any answer for where we're at right now, Owen. I don't know everything that happened to you in Iraq. But if you let me help, I know there is something I can do.

"I'm going to see Dr. Wyatt. I don't want to be scared of falling asleep in your arms anymore."

Owen takes a deep breath and exhales. He closes his eyes and faces her. Gently, he places his arms around her and embraces her. She turns to face him, wraps her arms around him. Tenderly, he kisses her forehead, one hand holding the back of her head. She gazes into his eyes, brings her parted lips to his. She rests one hand on his cheek. He turns his lips to her open hand and presses his lips to her palm.

"I want nothing more than both of us to be unafraid to dream again, Cristina."


	3. Chapter 3

_Sometimes, the hardest part about friendship is telling your best friend something you know she won't agree with. Because real best friends watch your back when you're laid bare and are at your most vulnerable. They shield you, figuratively and literally._

_Best friends - if they're really friends - know when it's time to give you a reality check._

_And when to just shut up and listen._

"What's with green tea?" Meredith asks, as she and Cristina walk on the hospital patio toward a table.

"I don't know. The coffee Callie made this morning smelled like a chemistry experiment gone bad. Turned me off to coffee for the rest of the day. And by the way, I'm seeing Owen again."

"You're what?" Meredith plants her plate of cranberry orange muffins on the table with a clatter and glares at Cristina.

"Shhh. Could you keep it down?" Cristina snaps back, looking around to see who has noticed their exchange.

"I can't believe what you just said. You're seeing Owen again? Isn't it too soon for that?"

"It's not like I'm sleeping with him. We're just taking things slowly. Very slowly."

"Oh, you mean like holding hands? Lovely."

"Derek called you a lemon. He threw a bat at you. Never really apologized. And you didn't think twice about taking him back."

"It's not the same thing. And you know it."

"You're right. It isn't. If Owen wasn't doing anything about what happened, we wouldn't be talking about this now. But he is. What's Derek doing about the things he said and did to you?"

Meredith stares at her before replying, "Cristina, we're not talking about Derek."

"Owen's been seeing Dr. Wyatt for what, seven weeks now? I just started seeing her myself. "

"You two are seeing Dr. Wyatt? What else are you going to tell me? You're having premarital counseling?"

Cristina takes a sip of green tea.

"I'm seeing her on my own."

"Oh."

"Did you ask her if it's ok for you to start seeing Owen again?

"No. I decided that on my own."

Meredith sighs.

"I just don't want you to get hurt."

Cristina finishes her lemon bar and eyes the muffins on Meredith's plate. "I know. Are you going to eat those? Because if you're not, can I have them? I'm so hungry."

Meredith slides the plate across the table toward Cristina, who promptly breaks off a muffin piece, and pops it into her mouth.

"So, was it really that good?" Meredith asks, pretending to be annoyed.

"What was good? The muffin? Yeah, it's good."

For the first time since they sat down, Meredith grins.

"The sex, silly. I mean, don't take this the wrong way, but it's been a while for you."

Cristina gives her that rare, beatific smile, her eyes looking far away, her mind, her body, remembering all too clearly.

It's Cristina's turn to sigh.

"That good, huh?" Meredith teases, her grin widening. "C'mon. He'd better be worth all the trouble you've gone through."

Cristina frowns.

"I meant your visit to Dr. Wyatt."

"Has anyone ever touched you, made love to you that you find a part of yourself you never knew was there before?"

Meredith smiles, says nothing and looks at her coffee cup. She brings the cup to her lips and looks at Cristina again. Something had changed.


	4. Chapter 4

It is one of those crisp Seattle evenings, after the rain has just stopped. If you pause long enough to take a deep breath, the earth smells mossy. And if you look up at the sky, the woolly clouds of Zeus roll by, revealing in their wake a clear expanse of navy blue.

It would have been a perfect night to gaze at stars, but Owen has something else on his mind.

And there she is.

Cristina's hands are deep in her raincoat pockets and her leisurely walk almost comes to a halt when she sees him standing by the stoop of her building. Her eyebrows arch and her lips part, as if she's about to say something. But she doesn't.

It has been almost a week since she mentioned that she, too, was going to see Dr. Wyatt. Part of him still winces inside at the thought of how he hurt her, how he could have easily killed her with his hands. He has yet to forgive himself, even though he knows he had no control over himself when the strangling took place.

They've been amiable if professional to each other at the hospital, but even that it is not enough for him. Each day, it leaves him utterly miserable not to be able to talk and flirt with her like he used to, to say nothing of the frustration he feels at not being able to make love yet to her once more. They have met for lunch once in the cafeteria, ignoring the curious glances thrown their way. But beyond that, they have not seen each other, even though Cristina had declared herself ready to spend more time with him.

What makes everything somewhat bearable is that they have since abandoned the awkward dance of deliberate avoidance. For Owen, it has been painful to watch Cristina so clearly dedicated to work and Izzie's care yet nakedly vulnerable in her solitary moments, when she thinks he's not around to observe her.

Now, when their eyes do meet in the hallways, the cold fear of losing her melts away at what he sees in her face: hope.

"I had to see you," he says.

"Are we – should we – be doing this?"

"We're not doing anything­ yet, Cristina," he laughs quietly. "Although I'm working very hard on that part."

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"Look, can we? Can we just walk for a bit?" he asks

She is silent for a few seconds before she replies, "Ok."

They both turn to walk slowly side by side. He longs to take her hand, but he doesn't, even though his fingertips tingle with the memory of brushing hers, and more important, the memory of how smooth and soft her cool skin felt to his touch as his hands explored her bare body once.

He mentally shakes off the sensual image. It's a minute before he says something again.

"I've been meeting with Dr. Wyatt a lot."

"I know."

She takes a deep breath and exhales. "Me, too."

"I told her I wanted to start spending more time with you again outside of the hospital, but take things very, very slowly."

"And?"

"She asked me if I thought it was a good idea."

"Is it?"

"I told her that I had every intention of taking care of my issues, before anything else. And I meant it."

"You know, it's not that simple."

"I know. But I'm making progress. I haven't had nightmares in a while. I've been undergoing EMDR as part of a VA study. I've also been taking…"

"Medication?"

"No. Ok…don't laugh. I've been taking lessons in meditation. They're supposed to help."

"You have?" she blurts out, stops walking and stares incredulously at him.

He stops, too, and turns to face her, his expression grim.

"Cristina, I want to be whole again. So I'm doing whatever it takes for as long as it takes. I can't get back the part of me that was destroyed. But here, in the after, I don't want to lose what's left of me. There are pieces of me that are still alive and somehow connected, that I'm still living and breathing. Pieces of me that you saw. You see me."

Cristina says nothing. Every part of her wants to embrace Owen, kiss him, comfort him. But it is not yet time.

Her lips lift at the corners.

"The funny thing is, you see me, too," she replies, not daring to look at him.

She turns to walk back to her apartment and he does the same, staying by her side.

"So, about us taking it slowly…" she says.

"You know, we haven't had much of a chance to do anything together outside of work and your place even before what happened in your room. So I was thinking we should venture out. I told Dr. Wyatt that any time you and I would spend would be strictly in public."

"And she signed off on that?"

"She had her reservations, but I told her not seeing you is making it much more difficult for me to focus on what I have to do.

"She bought that explanation?"

"It's the truth. So…do you have plans tomorrow?"

"Other than sleeping in on a Saturday morning? Not really."

"How about I pick you up around 10? Right here," he says, standing once more at the entrance to Cristina's and Callie's apartment building.

"EMDR and meditation, huh?"

"Whatever it takes, Cristina."


	5. Chapter 5

Sometimes, you just don't question it anymore.

That feeling which can only be described as instinctive. You follow it. You listen to it. And you heed its call like a rose gardener who rises early to tend to his blooms, snipping here and there, suffering the thorns along the way, waiting patiently for the petals to pucker, hoping and somehow, knowing all along that the petals will unfurl gloriously.

On Saturday morning, Cristina wakes up with that feeling. She dresses in layers for what she expects to be a cool day, but she has no idea what it would hold for her and Owen.

A minute before 10, she heads down to the entrance to her building, unwilling to break her habit of punctuality, even if it might give the impression that she is eager. Heck, who is she kidding? Punctual or not, she is eager to see him.

She isn't surprised to find Owen already waiting for her, leaning on the wall at the entrance to her apartment building.

His eyes gleam at the sight of her. He thinks about wrapping her in his arms and kissing her. But he holds himself back, knowing all too well how easily touching her stokes the fire within him.

"Good morning," he says huskily.

"Um, good morning," she answers, averting her eyes in a flash of shyness.

"Ready?"

"Yeah. Where are we going?"

"You'll see soon enough," he replies with a small smile, opening the passenger door of his truck, then waiting for her to slide into the seat before he closes the door.

He drives through the streets of Seattle for a long couple of minutes, the silence between them thickening with unasked questions, unspoken answers.

Finally, he asks, "Are you sleeping ok?"

"Yeah, I am. You?"

"It's getting better every night. I try not to fall asleep without meditating first."

"And you're still no longer getting nightmares?

"Yeah, why? You're not one of those doctors who dismiss complementary therapies?"

"No. I grew up around some herbal medicine." She pauses, then glances at him. "I just didn't picture you as the Deepak Chopra-type."

"I'm definitely not a Deepak-type," he laughs. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Cristina" he adds, teasingly.

"I guess so."

Hearing audience laughter faintly from the radio in the background, she says, "Is that 'Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me?'"

"Yeah, how come you know it?"

"I used to listen to it years ago when I had to drive on Saturday mornings to run errands. Sometimes, I'd sit in my car parked in lot of Trader Joe's, waiting for the answers before I could start shopping."

"Yeah, I've had those driveway moments. Especially when you're trying to figure out which bizarre news item is real. Do you want to listen to this, since you haven't heard it in a while?"

"Sure, why not?

Cristina relaxes in the seat for the first time since she got into the truck. Owen smiles to himself, thinking about how much Cristina belongs here with him. And how she seems to always surprise him without her knowing it. They laugh at the jokes on the show, and were it not for the thrill of what he had in mind for today, Owen is almost rueful as he pulls into the parking lot of the Kenmore Air waterfront terminal.

Suddenly, Cristina realizes where they are.

"We're flying?"

"Yup. I called in a favor."

"Where are we going?"

"Wait…just wait."

He pulls the truck into a parking spot. He goes over to the passenger door to open it, but Cristina has already gotten out. He pretends to look stern and disapproving. "Ever wonder how chivalry almost died?"

"Sorry," she says. "I didn't know you were going to get the door."

Owen lifts a backpack from the bed of truck and slings it over one shoulder.

He takes Cristina's hand, holding it snugly, noting with pleasure how much smaller and softer it is compared to his.

She looks down at their entwined fingers, but says nothing, suppressing a shiver of elation and trying to quell a wave of nervousness and anticipation as they walk toward a man grinning broadly next to a small plane on the water.

"Doc!" the silver-haired man greets Owen.

"It's good to see you Chuck," Owen replies, and the men give each other a hearty hug. "Cristina, this is a friend from way back, Chuck Reynolds. Chuck, this is Cristina,."

"Nice to meet you."

"It's a pleasure. I've known Doc since he was a kid. Called him Owen back then. He always loved plane rides. Now, he can fly one of these with his eyes closed. You two ready for some fun at Lopez Island?"

"You bet, Chuck," Owen replies.

Cristina's mouth drops open, but no sound comes out.

Chuck helps her get into the two-seater Cessna seaplane. "I didn't know you knew how to fly," she says accusingly to Owen, as she buckles her seatbelt. He smiles mischievously.

"Have a great time, Cristina," Chuck says, chuckling.

With Owen at the controls, the Cessna 180 takes off within minutes. He turns briefly to check on Cristina, sees the look of incredulity on her face, and grins at her.

"I told you there's a lot you don't know about me. Sit back. You have nothing to worry about. Flying is one of the most relaxing things for me."

About 45 minutes later, he lands the seaplane in Fisherman Bay as Cristina shakes her head in disbelief.

They disembark at Lopez Islander Resort and walk over to a shop called Lopez Bicycle Works where two road bicycles and helmets have been reserved for them.

"I took a chance that you knew how to ride one of these," Owen jokes.

"Are you kidding me? I could outride you any day. Where to, Lance Armstrong?" she says.

They ride at a leisurely pace for about an hour, any shred of awkwardness vanishing with each minute. For the first time in a long time, they feel a burden lifted, even if it's temporarily. Cristina feels the breeze onn her face, remembering what it was like just after she learned to ride a bike well without training wheels, her Dad looking on proudly. Owen glances at her, sees the happiness in her face, and revels in her joy.

For the first time, they talk about almost everything else but their relationship and work at Seattle Grace, and Owen's experience in Iraq. There will be time for all of those another day.

Because this day, they want to rediscover each other without the turmoil and angst of recent weeks, they strike a silent temporary truce with cold and dark reality.

They take their time pedaling through the bucolic simplicity of Lopez Island, waving back to everyone who waves at them, It is a friendly community, and they cannot help but feel far away from everything, including their lives in Seattle. Owen muses about how natural it feels to be with Cristina, how easy it is to be with her when he gives the idea of trusting himself again.

They stop at a park just off the road. Owen pulls out a lightweight picnic blanket and a small feast for lunch from his backpack, and wordlessly, Cristina helps him arrange the picnic on the grass, as if it were the most natural thing to do.

It is a couple of languorous hours later when she lies on her back, knees bent and sock-covered feet flat atop the blanket, her face facing the canopy of trees. Owen gathers the empty boxes, plastic bags of their lunch and throws them in a nearby trash can, then lies next to her, propping himself on one arm.

"Robert Pirsig got it wrong." Cristina blurts out.

"What did he get wrong?" he says, stroking her face with his fingertips.

"In his book, 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,' he wrote that riding a car is like watching a movie – you watch the images go by from the car window, while riding a motorcycle is like being in a movie because you're feeling the wind and there's no glass between you and what you see.

"I think that riding a motorcycle is like being in a movie that's being fast-forwarded because you're going too fast to follow the story of the movie. Riding a bicycle is more like being in a movie."

"I agree." Cristina turns to Owen and closes her eyes as his lips descend upon hers, softly at first, then more intensely and insistently. She matches the passion of his kisses, pulling down his body on top of hers.

"Woo-hoo!" Whistles, laughter and the loud honking of the horn coming from a passing car loaded with teenagers interrupt them. They stop kissing and look at each other, then laugh at being caught making out. Slowly, they get up to pack up the rest of their things.

They take the long way back to the resort and drop off their bicycles. By this time, the sky is a rosy shade of yellow, signalling the beginning of a brilliant sunset. Cristina looks at Owen's profile, sees the contrast of his blue eyes against the fiery sky and makes a promise to herself to never forget this moment. Never had Owen looked more breathtaking. He glances at her and smiles lovingly.

They say very little to each other and sit in comfortable silence on the plane ride back and on the drive to Cristina's apartment, both of them afraid to break the sweet spell. Owen pulls up to the apartment building, and this time, Cristina waits until he comes around to open the door. After she emerges, he closes the passenger door, wanting to say so much, and not wanting the evening to end. She places two fingers on top of his lips. "Shhhh," she says. Then, she places her hands on each side of his face and kisses him tenderly.

"Thank you for today."

She turns to head up to her place, then looks back at him, "Take your time to do what you need to do, Owen. Because I'm not going anywhere. When you're ready, I'll be here, waiting for you."


	6. Chapter 6

When you spend most of your young adult life reading every word of the Journal of the American College of Cardiology and Heart - as Cristina Yang has - there really isn't much room left to prepare for detours.

Then again, Cristina has had her share of events that she could not have seen coming. Like the brief and unintended pregnancy while she was with Burke.

And meeting Owen, who, simply by being himself, would lead her to discover parts of herself she never knew existed.

Serendipity can be a blessing.

Monday morning, two days after Owen flew Cristina to Lopez Island, starts off innocuously enough.

Cristina showers, puts on a change of clothes and gets ready to brush her teeth.

She opens the cabinet under the sink, looking for - and finding more than an extra tube of toothpaste.

She sees the sentinel.

An unopened box of tampons ­- a box she bought more than two months ago.

Her mind had been so occupied with studies and clinical trials for treating metastatic melanoma and of course, Owen, that she had not noticed that she had missed her period last month, and it seems, this month, too.

Oh. My. God.

Owen.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

They had made love only that one time. It couldn't be.

Cristina's period had never been regular to begin with. But even for her, two months is a record.

She brushes her teeth quickly, her heart pounding so loudly against her chest, the sound might as well be drums in her ears.

She stops and stares at the mirror when she remembers the moment Owen climaxed with a deep groan, just moments after she herself stifled a moan as she reached her own peak of pleasure.

She knew all along that he would not be the type to think of his own enjoyment and satisfaction first. He probed, he sought, patiently, intensely, until he found the places that made her body tremble and shiver with ecstasy.

And afterward, he ran his fingertips lightly across her skin, caressing every line, every curve, every valley, while the blue seas of his eyes paralleled the navigation of her body and face, as if committing every inch of her to memory.

Weak in the knees, she pauses before she puts down the toothbrush and rinses. She looks at her reflection, thinking about how other men – including Owen – had told her she was beautiful. But with Owen, it is entirely different. From the beginning, she felt beautiful almost every time he looked at her.

She grabs her purse, heads out to the nearest pharmacy. She buys two early pregnancy test kits and heads to work.

But Cristina never gets the opportunity all morning to take them.

Instead, by a combination of sheer force of will and circumstance, she spends a good part of the day working with Dr. Dixon on a woman in labor with a rare heart condition. The irony of the situation isn't wasted on Cristina, who reminds herself that cardiology still is her number one passion and that she can't be distracted by something that she doesn't know with certainty. And being in Dr. Dixon's service unintentionally but conveniently keeps her away from Owen until she collects her thoughts.

She pores over the patient's echocardiogram and other tests when Dr. Dixon walks into room.

"Dr. Yang, what do you think?"

"You're asking me, Dr. Dixon?"

"Yes, I am. I think you know what's wrong with our patient's heart."

"Um, well, she has peripartum cardiomyopathy."

"Peripartum cardiomyopathy. A form of dilated cardiomyopathy in which no other cause of heart dysfunction can be identified. A rare disorder in which a weakened heart is diagnosed within the final month of pregnancy or within 5 months after delivery and can complicate 1 in every 1,300 - 4,000 deliveries. Hmm. Are you sure?"

"Perfectly."

Cristina says this simply, but confidently.

"Good. You may scrub in, Dr. Yang."

Hours later, there is nothing that feels sure to Cristina when she sits on a bed in the on-call room, arms folded over her bent knees. Meredith opens the door and leans inside.

"What are you doing here? Owen's been looking for you."

Cristina looks at her, but doesn't say a word.

Meredith walks in and sits next to her.

"Are you two okay? Please don't tell me he's back to having nightmares."

"No, it's not him. He's doing great."

"What is it, then?"

"Promise me you won't kill me."

Meredith's eyebrows furrow.

"What happened?"

"I might be pregnant. I haven't had my period in about two months."

"What!?"

"I know. I know. Don't get mad at me. I should've been paying attention when I suddenly started hating the smell of Callie's coffee."

"Callie doesn't exactly make the best coffee, so that could be nothing. So, did you take the test yet?"

"No. I've got two of them here."

"So? What are you waiting for?"

"I don't know. I don't know."

"Look. You shouldn't be worrying about it if you don't know the answer. C'mon. Start peeing and I'll look at the sticks if you don't want to."

Wordlessly, Cristina heads to the ladies' room, takes two tests, hands them back in a brown paper bag to Meredith in the on-call room.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Mer asks.

"No…. damn it. Why do those things take forever?"

"Cristina, you've missed your period before. You're probably just stressed out from everything that's happened to Izzie and Owen. And to you."

"I didn't want to be pregnant - the first time around."

"When you were with…"

"Yes, you can say it. Burke."

"I know. You would have had a smart baby with crappy DNA, like I will in a few years."

"What's wrong with my DNA?"

"Not yours. Burke's. The way he treated you. He thought he loved you. But I don't think he did. I mean, who does that, running away like a coward?"

"Burke." Cristina answers, smiling sarcastically.

"Exactly my point. Anyway, you have nothing to worry about."

"How do you know Owen doesn't have crappy DNA?

Meredith speaks more gently when she replies, "I mean… you have nothing to worry about because you're not pregnant, Cristina."

"I'm not?"

"No," Meredith replies, handing her the pregnancy test sticks, the minus signs unquestionable. She smiles and gets up to leave.

"Anyway, you can stop hiding from Owen now."

"I'm not hiding."

Meredith says nothing and closes the door.

Cristina waits for the feeling of relief to wash over her. But it doesn't come.

To her growing surprise, she feels pangs of regret.

She is not pregnant with Owen's baby. But it strikes her – no, shocks her - that she would have wanted to keep the baby if she had been.

And there could only be one reason for that.

She knows it now, as surely as the swift but strong rhythm of her heart.

Cristina bolts out of the on-call room and walks quickly, looking for Owen, spying him at the end of the hallway. He sees her and smiles.

Now or never.

She inhales and lets out a deep breath. "I need to talk to you," she says urgently.

"Now?"

"Now."

They walk together without a word to the boiler room.

Once Owen closes the door, Cristina walks to the other end of the room.

"You know how you once thought you would marry Beth? I almost got married once. He didn't show up on our wedding day."

"Cristina, I'm so…" Owen begins to say, his face pained.

"No, don't say anything. I need to finish this."

"He did me a favor. I thought that if I went through with it, I would love him. Now, I know I would not have felt that way. I loved cardio, Owen – I still do. He's a cardiologist. He symbolized everything that I wanted to be. I didn't love him."

"But you. You stitched me up. You did this to me. You made me love you. I-I-I love you, you hear me? I love you."

Owen closes the gap between them and kisses her deeply and passionately. When he stops, he brushes away a tendril from her face like he often likes to do and says,

"Cristina, I love you. From the first time I saw you here. I could have gone to another hospital after I came back from Iraq. But my heart told me to come here. I chose you."

Cristina answers softly, "And I choose you."


End file.
